


Here we are as in olden days, Happy golden days of yore

by JJK, SinpaiCasanova (Bladerunnerblue)



Series: Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one. [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Biting, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Christmas Smut, Clothes Ripping, Drunken Shenanigans, Gift Giving, Knotting, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Rutting, Vampires, Wolfsbane Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJK/pseuds/JJK, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bladerunnerblue/pseuds/SinpaiCasanova
Summary: So far, Steve had never let Bucky drink from him during his rut. He had no idea what that might do to Bucky’s vampire physiology if he ingested those extra hormones, so Bucky had been forced to hold himself back. But this time, Bucky’s teeth were already embedded deep into the vein on Steve’s wrist so that he could share in Steve’s inebriation from the eggnog laced with brandy and wolfsbane. He was already beginning to feel a little lightheaded when the reality of the situation finally hit him like a punch to the gut.Fuck. Steve was going into rut, and if Bucky were correct in his assumption, it’s a whole month ahead of schedule as well.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069814
Comments: 45
Kudos: 301





	Here we are as in olden days, Happy golden days of yore

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all said you wanted more from this universe, and we listened 👀❤

_Here we are as in olden days,  
Happy golden days of yore _

_**Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas** _

━━━━━━⋇⋆✦⋆⋇━━━━━━

 _Moonlight making crosses_ _on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one._

_**Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain** _

━━━━━━⋇⋆✦⋆⋇━━━━━━

━━━━━━⋇⋆✦⋆⋇━━━━━━

**_Bucky_ **

Winter was Bucky’s favorite season. It hadn't always been, not before, not when the short days and cold air were things to be disliked. Not when there wasn’t enough money for heating, or when a snowfall meant it was difficult to cover their tracks on the western front. Not when it meant long nights at one of Pierce’s dinner parties. But ever since Bucky and Steve had been reunited and Bucky had made his home in Steve’s cabin in the middle of the forest in upstate New York, Bucky had learned to love the winter months. 

When the sun stayed low in the sky all day long, it meant that Bucky could bundle himself up in layers and enjoy long walks in the forest with Steve at his side without fear. When the nights drew in early they lit the fireplace in the cabin and snuggled up on the sofa, or they built up a fire pit on the terrace and watched the sparks dance up into the night sky, Bucky felt at peace. With the newly installed, thick glazed tinted windows–keeping the cabin insulated and warm from morning to night–and when Bucky was tucked in close beside Steve, whose body temperature ran a good couple of degrees higher than a regular person, Bucky never felt the cold. Steve's wolf-coat would grow even thicker to combat the cold winter months and he'd curl up by the fire in his transformed state to let Bucky burrow himself against his warm fur. It was by far Bucky's favorite time of year.

And the best thing of all about winter was Christmas. By December, snow blanketed the slopes around the cabin and trapped them in an idyllic wilderness. Every year Steve brought in a pine tree he’d cut down from the outer reaches of the forest and they decked it in twinkling lights and let the smell of fresh pine permeate through the air. They'd drink eggnog laced with brandy and wolfsbane that made them both tipsy and sloppy as they made out on the thick rug in front of the fireplace. 

All of Bucky’s memories from before he fell from the train had returned to him a flood as soon as he’d tasted the first drop of Steve’s blood on the night they’d been mated, but it had taken a while for his consciousness to sort through them all and their first Christmas together had been a bounty of rediscovered memories. 

They'd decorated the tree with garlands of popcorn that year, and listened to the old crooning Christmas songs Bucky remembered from before the war. Bucky hadn't thought things could get any better, until he discovered just how much Christmas decorations had changed over the years. The sheer volume of things you could buy was overwhelming and gradually, their home had been filled with candles and wreaths and garlands and tinsel. He stockpiled the ugliest Christmas sweaters he could find, deriving great joy from the fact that Steve still loved him, no matter how tacky his outfit was. He even bought Steve a ridiculous Santa suit one year, which did _not_ survive until the new year in one piece; but then again, with fangs and claws involved, none of the clothes or bedding ever lasted very long. 

Admittedly, the first few years after they’d been reunited were a whirlwind of new and exciting experiences for Bucky, whose basic knowledge of werewolves—up until recently— only included the lies and rumors Pierce had spread to instill fear within the coven. He knew very little about the complexities that went into being mated to a werewolf, or how vastly Steve’s anatomy would differ from his own during certain times of the year.

Needless to say, Bucky was ill-prepared to deal with Steve’s rut the first time it happened. But then again, Steve didn’t handle the situation any better than he did. Steve had barricaded himself into the guest room as soon as he’d felt that tell-tale hunger settle into his gut like a lead weight, and despite Bucky’s fervent yet confused pleading, Steve had refused to open the door, only emerging a few days later when the worst of it had finally subsided.

Rightfully, it had scared Bucky half to death, and he’d let Steve know as much as soon as he was coherent enough to take the verbal lashing Bucky was gonna dole out on his stubborn ass. Steve had taken it in stride, as he usually did when Bucky laid into him like that, and afterward, Steve had calmly explained what had happened and why he’d reacted the way he did.

Since he’d been bitten, Steve had dealt with his ruts entirely alone, only using his hand and his bullheaded sense of will to power through it. Steve had explained that, when he’s in the throes of rut, he’s not able to control himself the way he normally could, and that more often than not, his instinct to mate overpowered all sense of reason. 

“I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you, Bucky,” Steve had said to him then, because of course Steve’s mind would instantly go _there_ of all places. “I can’t lose you. Not again. I’m not strong enough.”

Bucky just sighed in that way he did when he thought Steve was being completely ridiculous, rolling his eyes at his mate with a fond sense of exasperation plastered across his face. It was sweet, how protective Steve was when it came to Bucky, but sometimes, being handled with such unnecessary caution was a little grating on the nerves.

Bucky was a goddamn vampire, not some porcelain doll that would shatter if Steve so much as looked at him the wrong way. Bucky could hold his own against Steve—or any werewolf for that matter—if he ever had to, and it was past time for Steve to realize that Bucky could handle anything Steve threw at him and then some.

Steve had reluctantly agreed with Bucky’s infallible logic, and the following year, Steve had spent his rut with Bucky at his side, just as he’d promised he would. It was truly an amazing experience for them both, even though the cabin looked as if a twister had blown right through it. But Steve never questioned Bucky’s ability to hold his own again, and once more, their lives became that much more perfect.

This year, however, would be the time when Bucky’s prowess was really put to the test. He’d withstood the might of a mindless Steve in rut, even held his own against the hypnotizing pull of the full moon. Though, in the time that Bucky’s been with Steve, those instances had always been safely separated from each other by weeks or months. 

Until now, of course.

They normally had more of a warning of Steve’s approaching rut, and yes, Bucky had noticed that Steve's temper was a little on the shorter side lately (never with him, of course), but there were usually a few days of tell-tale signs that let them better prepare. Naturally, Bucky had just assumed that Steve’s change of mood was due to the impending full moon– now only two days away–but as they lazed on the sofa, sprawled out in each other's arms with the stereo playing Christmas songs and the fire crackling before them, Bucky could smell the sudden rush of hormones now flowing in Steve’s blood. 

It was still something he was getting used to, being able to smell a person’s blood as it pumped beneath their skin. Everyone smelled slightly different, depending on their iron count, their diet, or their health. Pierce had often likened it to wine-tasting and saw himself as something of a connoisseur, and whilst Bucky would never take it that far, it was true some blood tasted better than others. Steve tasted better than anything Bucky had ever experienced before, but when his rut hit, the smell of it alone took on an even more intoxicating allure. One that Bucky was nearly powerless to resist.

So far, Steve had never let Bucky drink from him during his rut. He had no idea what that might do to Bucky’s vampire physiology if he ingested those extra hormones, so Bucky had been forced to hold himself back. But this time, Bucky’s teeth were already embedded deep into the vein on Steve’s wrist so that he could share in Steve’s inebriation from the eggnog laced with brandy and wolfsbane. He was already beginning to feel a little lightheaded when the reality of the situation finally hit him like a punch to the gut. 

_Fuck_. Steve was going into rut, and if Bucky were correct in his assumption, it’s a whole month ahead of schedule as well. They’re not prepared to handle this right now, especially in the inebriated state they’re both in, but when the first fiery notes of that rut-spiked blood hit his tongue, Bucky knew he’d sooner be able to stop moths flocking to an open flame than be able to tear himself away from the sweet ambrosia filling up his mouth. 

He moaned around Steve’s wrist and greedily lapped it up, feeling the heat of it seep deep into his circulation like it was setting him on fire from the inside out. 

Quickly, Bucky took stock of the state of his body, cataloging all the changes that were brought on from just that one little sip. His skin, which was normally as pale and cold as new-fallen snow, felt flushed and hot to the touch in an instant. There was sweat beading at his temples, the hollow of his throat, dampening the hair on the back of his neck— which was odd considering the fact that Bucky’s body hadn’t needed to sweat in nearly a century. There was also a deep ache steadily spreading from his chest down into the pit of his belly, wrapping around his leaking cock as tight as a fist and pulsing like a sore tooth to the tempo of Steve’s rapid heartbeat. 

The fact that his dick was leaking should have been a dead giveaway that something wasn’t quite right because Bucky hadn’t been able to have a wet release since Pierce turned him all those years ago. Steve more than made up for that for the both of them, but still, Bucky was left baffled by the way his own body seemed to suck up every drop of Steve’s hormone-laced blood and use it in all of these new and exciting ways.

But it was the most exquisite sensation he'd felt so far, the soft fabric of his leggings sliding against the wet head of his throbbing cock with every unnecessary breath he took. It was good, of course it was, but the light pressure on his dick was not nearly enough to satisfy the raging inferno now lighting up his nerves like red hot embers.

Bucky needed more, so much more, and right now, he’d do just about anything he could to get it.

“Mmmm, _fuck!_ ” He broke away for the briefest moment to whimper a mindless plea into the skin of Steve’s wrist, shifting his weight so that he could press his ass against the hardening cock Bucky could feel against the small of his back. The sudden emptiness he felt inside of him was almost too painful for him to contemplate, blinding in its intensity to the point where, soon enough, it would be all that Bucky _could_ think about. He pulled Steve’s arm closer to him and sunk his fangs back into the vein, drinking deeply as he ground his ass back against Steve’s dick; dying to feel the blunt head of it pressing against his aching hole, filling him up so completely that Bucky swore he could feel Steve’s thick cock in his fucking throat. 

Predictably, It took Steve a little while longer to catch on to what was happening, even as he lazily circled his hips against Bucky’s ass and tickled sloppy kisses against the juncture of Bucky’s neck; laving his hot tongue over their mating mark, again, and again. 

Then, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head, Steve gasped; his hips jerking up as his hands roughly clamped down on Bucky’s waist, pulling his mate impossibly close despite himself.

“Shit, Buck– _stop_ ,” he grumbled, but contrary to his plea, he made no effort to actually stop Bucky at all. They’d been hazily making-out all evening as Bucky alternated between drinking Steve’s blood and kissing until their lips felt bruised, whilst Steve drank mug after mug of the spiked eggnog. If Bucky’s mind was foggy, it was nothing compared to the drunken-like stupor that Steve was currently in. “Stop. Baby– _please!_ You gotta stop.”

“Nu-uh. S’mine.” Bucky gruffly protested, latching on to Steve’s arm more firmly. He’d never tasted anything quite like this before, and it only took a second for Bucky to know that he never wanted to drink anything but this ever again. It filled his belly up with heat and made him insatiable in the best way. The polar opposite to the predatory blood hunger that used to drive him crazy when he was just a fledgling.

“But...rut,” Steve said eloquently, still making no physical attempts to stop Bucky from drinking. He was hard as a rock now, pressing up close behind Bucky, and his kisses were growing more fevered by the second. 

"Please,” Steve choked out around a guttural growl, “I don't wanna hurt you, baby."

Bucky’s eyes rolled into the back of his head at that, but this time, it wasn’t because Steve was _doing_ anything of note, like spearing Bucky on his fat cock and fucking him open until he cried. No. That would've been far too simple for Steve, whose heart was sometimes bigger than his brain.

It was true that Steve wasn't stopping Bucky from taking what he wanted by any means, but he also wasn't taking any initiative to turn Bucky’s spine to molten jelly either, which was a huge fucking problem when Bucky felt as though he'd die if he didn't get Steve’s cock buried inside him _right fucking now._

“Oh, for fucks sake.” Bucky gracelessly spun himself around in Steve’s lap, pinning him to the arm of the couch with both his hand and the weight of his pointed stare. He spread his thighs a little wider as he straddled Steve, his hips halting their mindless grinding for a moment that felt like a small eternity the instant he took in Steve’s bewildered expression. Steve had never looked at him quite like that before—like he was both terrified of Bucky and so turned on he’d explode if he didn’t bite a necklace of bruises into Bucky’s throat right that instant. But as Bucky caught his reflection in the window behind them, he quickly realized the reason why.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve’s voice came out rough and strained, the words bitten out through clenched teeth. The touch on Bucky’s waist turned bruising as Bucky slowly took in his reflection, tracking the way his pupils swallowed up the whites of his eyes, leaving no trace of stormy blue in the sea of ink his eyes had become. His skin was flushed red, spreading from the apples of his cheeks down to his neck and chest, disappearing underneath the collar of his sweater that was nearly soaked through with sweat by now. Bucky barely recognized himself. 

“I do that to you, sweetheart?” Steve looked mesmerized. He brought a hand up to cup Bucky’s cheek and Bucky leaned into the warmth of his touch. “You’re warm,” Steve all but gasped. 

Bucky stared at his reflection a moment longer, admiring the color that rose in his cheeks and the way his sweat made his hair curl and stick to his forehead. He looked more alive than he had in centuries; he looked like he always pictured himself in his imagination. He looked like the youthful, spirited young man he’d once been—before he’d been sent away to war, before he’d died in the alps and been brought back as something neither alive nor dead. 

Bucky tore his gaze away from his reflection and stared down at Steve, running his tongue across his fangs as he did. Steve was definitely beginning to suffer from the throes of his rut. His eyes were blown wide, his long hair fanned around the olive-green cushion behind his head, and his cheeks were flushed pink above the dark scruff of his beard. And as if none of that was enough, the expression he wore was completely enraptured, as if Bucky were the moon itself. 

Bucky dove down to kiss him, hungry and messy in his desperation to be closer to Steve. He ran his hands beneath the thick knit of Steve’s sweater and let his fingers roam across the taut dips and swells of Steve’s stomach before he rocked back on his haunches and scrambled to try and remove the jumper from Steve’s torso. 

“Take this off,” Bucky demanded. Why were they wearing clothes anyway? Whose terrible idea was that? Probably Steve’s, if Bucky had to guess. Steve looked like he might protest, but when Bucky shucked his shirt off in one smooth move, his protests died on his lips and he began to wordlessly wriggle out of the sweater. The dog tags he wore around his neck bounced as they were freed from the material and Bucky traced one hand over where they lay between Steve’s pecs as the other ran through his sweat-slicked hair that curled and tufted and stayed where his fingers moved it. 

“Holy fuck--Bucky,” Steve’s voice was strangled, wrapped around a purr that emanated deep from his chest. 

“See? You’re not gonna hurt me, Steve. You could never hurt me. Please.” Bucky rocked his hips, grinding his ass down against the thick line of Steve’s erection. “Please.” He cupped his hands around the solid muscles of Steve’s pecs and traced his fingers through his mate’s glorious chest hair, using the leverage from his arms to grind down harder. But it wasn’t enough, it wouldn’t be enough until he was seated on Steve’s knot. If Steve ever let him have it.

Bucky whined mournfully at the mere thought of such a thing, pointlessly redoubling his efforts to grind a hole through the bottom of his festive Christmas leggings just to get to Steve’s dick--which was still hidden behind a thick layer of fucking cotton and denim. Who the hell wears jeans in their own home for fun? Steve. That’s who.

“Goddamn it, Steve,” Bucky snarled--literally _snarled_ \--against his mate’s mouth when Steve still did not attempt to ravish him on their living room couch. How Steve seemed to have a bottomless reserve of restraint when every cell in his body was screaming at him to fuck Bucky through the couch cushions was beyond him, but when Bucky let out that desperate sound, it was like the emergency breaks in Steve’s head suddenly disengaged.

In a blur of cool air and hot skin, Bucky found himself pinned belly down to the couch; knees bent underneath him and his ass up in the air. _Presenting_ himself for his Alpha as if he were a bitch in heat. Bucky shivered violently at the thought, keening as Steve ran his big hands over the pert globes of his ass--which was beginning to feel... _wet_ for some strange reason. It’s not outside the realm of possibilities that drinking Steve’s blood actually put him in heat--or perhaps this was just a pseudo-heat type of thing, brought on by the extra hormones his body didn’t know what to do with. Most likely it’s temporary, gone as soon as Bucky’s system burned through it, but _damn--_ it only took one taste and Bucky was hooked.

“Are you attached to these leggings in any way, shape, or form?” Steve all but snarled into the shell of his ear, raking his blunt nails down the backs of Bucky’s thighs through the soft material.

I--what?” Bucky squeaked into the cushion pillowed underneath his burning cheek. “What kind of question is that?!”

“Yes or no?”

Of course, he liked these pants, but he wouldn’t say he was overly attached to them. They were cute and cozy; soft on his skin and warm. The little jolly Santas were a pleasant bonus as well, but in Bucky's addled state, he couldn’t quite understand why Steve was asking about his fucking pants when all he wanted was some goddamn dick.

“No?” Bucky tried, brows drawn together in confusion. 

“Good,” was all Steve said before the tell-tale sound of fabric shredding caught his ear, and Bucky’s entire body lit up like a Christmas tree when his heated skin was finally exposed--not to the cool air in the room, but to the hot breath from Steve’s mouth.

Oh, _hell yes_.

Steve licked a hot, wet stripe directly over Bucky’s asshole, which had Bucky shivering and moaning beneath him. He teased for a few moments, swirling around the circumference before finally pressing in and reducing Bucky to a whimpering mess as he began to fuck his tongue into Bucky with rabid desperation. Bucky burrowed his face into the cushions of the sofa and tried to fist his hands into the unyielding material. Pleasure sparked through him as Steve worked magic with his tongue, but it still wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy him. A broken whine slipped from his tongue as a wave of insatiable lust coursed through him like a raging river. Bucky needed _more_. So much more than just this.

Bucky snaked a hand down to his dick, hanging hot and heavy between his legs, no longer confined by the ripped remains of his leggings. He wrapped a hand around it, hoping just to take some of the edge off, and gasped, shocked to feel that it was slick and sticky with the unmistakable feel of precome. But…how was that even possible?

“You okay?” Steve pulled away abruptly, reacting to the sudden tension that stiffened Bucky’s muscles. 

“Steve,” Bucky gasped, but rather than trying to explain, he guided one of Steve’s enormous hands to loosely curl around his hardened cock. 

“Oh, baby doll,” Steve whispered in awe, giving it a teasing squeeze that had Bucky going cross-eyed. His cock was drooling all over Steve’s fingers, eagerly twitching against his warm palm at the attention. “Such a messy boy.”

His reverent tone turned into a throaty growl as his grip tightened, and he began to coax Bucky towards an orgasm with quick, deft strokes that left Bucky trembling; whimpering wordless pleas into the dampened sofa. 

It didn’t take long before Bucky was tumbling over the edge. He tipped his head back in a silent scream, screwing his eyes closed before he realized he wanted to see it, glancing down just in time to see himself spilling over Steve’s hand in thick white ropes. He almost couldn’t believe what he saw, it was so strange after coming dry for so long. Maybe it was just seeing the tangible proof of his orgasm, but Bucky swore it felt more satisfying than normal. His body sagged into the sofa, and sweet relief coursed through him for one whole second before a fresh wave of pseudo-heat—or whatever the hell was happening to him—crashed into him again, and Bucky found himself craving Steve’s cock even more desperately than he ever had before. 

“Fuck me, Steve," Bucky whined, panting open-mouthed against the couch cushions as he ground his ass back against the open air; desperate for something, _anything_ , to fill his empty channel. " _Please_. I want it–need it s'bad.”

Steve hummed as he leaned his bulk across Bucky’s sweat-slicked back, the sound rough and pleased, scraping along Bucky’s exposed skin like fine grains of sand as his mate licked the come from his fingers. 

"Shh, baby," he soothed at the sound of Bucky’s distraught whimpering, laying a line of fevered kisses along the crook of Bucky’s neck. "Gonna take care'a'you, I promise. Gonna stuff your pretty ass so full'a me you'll be crying from it."

Steve’s words were coming out a bit more slurred than before, and from this close, Bucky could smell the wolfsbane on his breath and the rut rushing through his veins. Steve’s body was a blazing inferno of searing heat; the lightest of touches burning Bucky down to ash. It was heady and dizzying to be caught up in Steve’s aura when he was like this, but even more so when Bucky himself was heavily under the influence of Steve’s rut-soaked blood.

Though, it was curious to see that Steve hadn’t yet lost himself to the hypnotizing call of his animal instinct. He was calm–well, _calmer_ than he normally was when his rut had him by the throat. Perhaps the wolfsbane had something to do with that? Faintly dulling the razor-sharp sting of insatiable lust that bound him. 

At least for the moment, of course. 

Steve lazily trailed his lips down the ridges of Bucky’s bowed spine, kissing each knob reverently until he came to a stop at Bucky’s tailbone. 

The waistband of Bucky’s ruined leggings was clinging to his hips by a thread, but with a small, effortless tug, that too was severed, leaving nothing but scraps of soft, festive fabric encircling Bucky’s quivering thighs.

Steve took his time, running the tip of his tongue down the crack of Bucky’s ass once more. He sucked and licked at his mate’s hole, but this time, Steve chose not to linger. Instead, he continued on his journey downward, mouthing at Bucky’s balls where they were drawn up tight to his body; sucking one into his mouth before doing the same to the other.

The rumble of a pleased purr shook Bucky to his core, and without warning, Steve was drawing Bucky’s cock back between his legs; suckling on the head just to get another taste of Bucky’s sweet nectar.

Bucky's eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and belatedly, he could hear the sharp sound of fabric and foam tearing underneath his hands, but like everything else, it was quickly swallowed up by the ravenous need in his gut.

But why wasn't _Steve_ losing control yet? And more importantly, why hadn't he impaled Bucky on his cock when Bucky was begging and pleading for him to do just that?

Suddenly, an idea came to him. One that would guarantee Steve’s immediate compliance, if Bucky recalled the way Steve explained his inner wolf correctly. It was a bit shameless and manipulative, Bucky would admit, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and these were indeed desperate times.

Using every ounce of strength he could muster, Bucky locked his legs around Steve’s waist and spun them, flipping himself around as they tumbled off the couch to land on the soft carpeting below. Steve landed on his back with a startled growl, blinking up at Bucky with hazy eyes as his mate straddled his hips.

 _"Alpha,"_ Bucky mewled pitifully, looking down at Steve with red-rimmed eyes and wet lashes. He could feel Steve's cock give an eager twitch against his naked ass at the blatant use of his title, and the answering snarl that thundered in Steve’s chest let him know that the wolf within was finally– _finally_!– listening to his pleas intently. 

"P-please. It hurts. Fuck me. Knot me– _breed_ me. _Alpha, please!_ Need you so bad."

And just like that, every ounce of control Steve was hanging onto slipped from between his fingers like sand in the tide.

Bucky watched as Steve’s pupils blew wide and he bared his teeth in a snarl, snapping up to kiss Bucky with ferocious desperation. One hand gripped bruisingly around Bucky’s ass check, as the other grappled around under the sofa to find the bottle of lube they kept stashed there. Then—finally—one of Steve’s blunt, thick, and wickedly deft fingers was working into him. But rather than taking the edge off his lust, it only made Bucky crave it even more.

“ _Alpha!_ ” Bucky gasped. He arched his back, trying to sink further onto Steve’s finger, but Steve’s grip on his ass tightened and made sure Bucky stayed exactly where Steve wanted him. 

“Mine,” Steve growled, though he obligingly thrust a second finger to join the first and made quick work of scissoring Bucky open with a glorious stretch that had his freshly spent cock already straining to harden again. 

"That's it, sugar," Steve rumbled against Bucky’s swollen mouth, nipping at his bottom lip with rapidly sharpening teeth as he pumped his fingers. "Call out for your Alpha– _squeal._ Never did hear a sound quite so pretty. _"_

So Bucky did. His body curled over top of Steve’s, and a high-pitched whine Bucky didn’t even know he was capable of spilled from his parted mouth as wave after wave of white-hot pleasure crashed into him.

 _"F-f–uck!"_ Briefly, he squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of ecstasy, and every thought in Bucky’s mind was wiped out as yet another orgasm sparked at the base of his spine.

Steve growled in response, shoving his nose into the crook of Bucky’s neck to try and get a whiff of his mate’s arousal. It was futile, Bucky knew. Vampires didn't carry a scent, but that never once stopped the wolf within from trying to scent him any chance it could.

Though, as Steve took in long pulls of air–snuffling at his sweaty hair and the heat-flushed skin of Bucky’s neck – Steve seemed to find something he liked.

Steve groaned and bared his teeth in a pleased-looking snarl, and Bucky shivered violently as he licked a fat stripe from Bucky's chest clear up to his chin.

"Just when I think you can't get any sweeter…" Steve suddenly said, and already, his voice was warping into that guttural growl it took on when the wolf was pressing through to the surface. Bucky wasn't sure what he meant by that, far too caught up in the torrent of pleasure Steve was dousing him with as he relentlessly rubbed those thick fingers against his prostate.

Though, he never even got a chance to ask.

In a flash, Bucky was once again pinned underneath his mate; belly up, thighs obscenely spread around Steve’s bulk as he worked a third finger into the tight clutch of Bucky’s ass.

Steve was caught somewhere between wolf and man as he chased after Bucky’s pleasure with an almost predatory sense of glee, as if he were playing with his food before taking that first bite.

Bucky shuddered at the thought, choking on his own saliva at the images that flashed through his mind. 

It was almost enough to shove him over the precipice, knowing Steve was toying with him, but still, Bucky wanted _more._

"S-stevie–please!" He tried, begging so sweetly while Steve’s fingers abused his prostate. "PLEASE!"

His half-hard cock twitched against his belly, spitting out fat globs of come as he came for the second time that evening. Bucky’s throat was scraped raw from the scream that escaped his lungs, and he shook in Steve’s arms, riding out the aftershocks like waves in the ocean. 

"Beautiful," was all Steve could say, watching raptly as he pulled his fingers free from the warmth of Bucky’s body. His hair was soaked through with sweat, hanging in front of his eyes and sticking to his temples, and there was a feral sort of gleam that shone in the unnatural blue of his eyes–the sharp curve of his smile.

Bucky felt like a cornered rabbit under the weight of Steve’s predatory stare, and if his heart were still beating, Bucky would be able to dance to the beat of its rapid drumming. 

There was a whisper-thin air of fear that hung in the space between them as Steve's hand cupped his throat, squeezing just tight enough to get Bucky’s spine bowing off the floor. But in the back of Bucky’s mind, he knew that Steve would never hurt him in ways he didn't beg for.

Even when the wolf was in control, its main priority was Bucky’s safety. Bucky’s satisfaction. Bucky’s pleasure. But even knowing that as well as he did, the possibility was still there, and the small, animal part of Bucky’s brain would always be wary of the violence Steve could be capable of. 

The ghost of Rumlow’s mangled corpse was proof enough of that, even though Bucky had a hand in that just as much as Steve did.

Shaking that thought from his head, Bucky watched as Steve sat back on his haunches, using both his hands to attack the button and zipper of his jeans. Unfortunately, his fingers were too slick with come and lube to work the button free from its hole, and after a whopping two attempts to remove his pants like a civilized person, Steve lost what little patience he had left and literally ripped the zipper apart with his bare hands. 

The button went flying towards the sofa, as did the zipper itself when Steve continued to claw at his jeans, finally freeing his cock when the entire front of his pants was reduced to tatters.

Steve grinned with unrestrained satisfaction, snatching up the lube and slicking up his cock in a series of brutish movements. Bucky couldn't help but laugh at that, but the giggle in his throat was choked off at the source when Steve grabbed him by the thighs and shoved the fat head of his prick into his ass; bottoming out in one rough glide.

"Fuck!" Bucky howled as pain and pleasure twisted inside his gut. He raked his nails down the broad expanse of Steve’s back as he began to fuck Bucky, driving his cock into him like he wanted to spear Bucky through the floorboards.

Pain quickly gave way to blinding pleasure, and a deep satisfaction Bucky couldn’t even begin to describe spread through his veins like fire as he was finally filled, over and over again.

Steve was relentless, chasing after their pleasure like a wolf on hunt, and it wasn't long before Bucky was coming a third time; his soft cock steadily drooling out come across his chest and belly.

Bucky wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist and held on as tight as he could, drowning in pleasure as sharp and hot as molten liquid.

Neither of them were talking much anymore, both reduced to animalistic grunts and growls as they fucked, and it was both too much and not enough for Bucky, whose body was valiantly attempting to have a fourth orgasm before he even came down from the third. 

The base of Steve’s cock was beginning to swell, tugging at Bucky’s sore rim each time he pulled his hips back. But it was the sensation of being stretched past his limits, and the knife-like sting from Steve’s teeth sinking into the flesh of his neck as his knot popped into place, that ultimately undid Bucky for the fourth time.

They climaxed together, panting and trembling as Bucky’s walls were drenched in Steve’s release. His own cock was a mess of drying come, only getting filthier with each new spurt that splashed onto his skin as Steve ground his knot against his prostate.

He could barely keep his eyes open any longer, but Steve either didn't seem to notice, or the wolf just didn't care. He soothed Bucky’s exhausted whimpering with soft kisses to his lips, laving his tongue across the bite sluggishly bleeding on his neck when Bucky began to squirm on his cock, but his hips never stopped their mindless rutting, and judging from the devilish look his Steve’s eyes, Bucky knew he would be at Steve’s mercy for a long, long time.

He couldn’t be happier about it. 

━━━━━━⋇⋆✦⋆⋇━━━━━━

**_Steve_ **

For decades, Steve’s rut had been something to fear and stress over. It had never been pleasant. Days of intense cravings for sex that he didn’t dare give into; an insatiable itch under his skin to knot someone, something, _anything_ ; violent urges that he could never quite control. It always left him feeling ashamed that his condition reduced him to such base instincts. 

Even after he and Bucky had been mated, Steve still didn’t trust himself not to hurt Bucky. His loss of control during a full moon was different from his rut in so many ways. At full moon, it was like handing the reins over to his inner wolf, but the wolf had proven time and time again that Bucky’s safety was its top priority. During a rut? That was all Steve. A mindless Steve hellbent on one thing only; fucking, mating, and breeding. The frenzy he’d felt during the hunter’s moon on the night he and Bucky had been reunited was just a trace of the kind of mindlessness that overwhelmed Steve during his rut. He’d never forgive himself if he went too far and hurt Bucky when he wasn’t in full control of his faculties. He knew that Bucky was stronger than looked, hell, Bucky was stronger than Steve in so many ways. But his delicate frame looked so breakable, his innocent charm looked so vulnerable, and it had taken an awful lot of coaxing from Bucky to let Steve subject him to his rut. Even then, he’d resisted letting Bucky drink from him; who knew what that toxic mix of hormones would do to him? 

But, by _God_ , how wrong Steve had been to withhold that from Bucky. Whatever hormones were responsible for reducing Steve to a mindless, rutting beast, breathed fresh life into Bucky’s veins. His cheeks flushed, his lips turned rosy red— _not_ from a coating of blood, for once—sweat beaded from his forehead and pooled in the hollow of his throat, the small of his back, the backs of his knees. Everywhere Steve put his hands and his mouth suddenly smelled and tasted of the Bucky Steve remembered. It smelled like the musty sheets in their tiny tenement apartment that they didn’t wash half as often as they should have done. It smelled like their cramped tent on the western front, like burrowing together under the blanket to keep warm, like the shirts Bucky wore to the boxing club that Steve definitely _didn’t_ bury his nose in when he was meant to be laundering them. It was heaven, and Steve nuzzled at Bucky’s pulse points to smell more of it, nosing at Bucky’s neck and lapping up the salty tang of his sweat that Steve’s hindbrain was crazy for. 

And that was only the start of it. Steve had grown used to the slightly alarming fact that Bucky no longer came in a traditional manner. It was unnerving at first, feeling Bucky tip over the edge into an orgasm as Steve fisted Bucky’s cock, feeling it pulse and soften whilst staying resolutely dry. Bucky assured him it still felt just as good and Steve believed him, soon it was just another fact of life. Like the fact that without a heartbeat Bucky could creep up on Steve entirely unawares and catch him off guard with kisses and surprise hugs. Or like the fact that sometimes Steve needed to flex the wolf and would stretch out in front of the fire with his snout resting on his front paws, and whenever that happened Bucky would invariably end up snuggled against him with his hands clutched deep in Steve’s fur. 

But watching Bucky paint patterns onto their skin, watching his cheeks glow with exertion, watching sweat curl in his hair...Steve was never going to hold back from letting Bucky drink during his rut ever again. 

He knotted Bucky repeatedly over the two—or was it three?—days of his rut. Finding new ways to plow into Bucky and reduce him to a quivering, leaking mess. Steve was only really lucid when his knot was tying them together. He’d come back to himself just enough to check that Bucky was okay, usually finding him as blissed out and dazed as Steve felt, and encourage Bucky to drink up to regain his strength. They’d lie, curl, balance—it depended on where their cavorting had taken them—and Steve would card through Bucky’s hair, peppering soft kisses against whatever skin he could reach, until the next wave of rut began to build and Steve’s kisses turned into bruising lovebites– or straight-up bites–that flared briefly before disappearing into the unblemished porcelain of Bucky’s skin. Only his mating mark survived as a lasting scar, covering the puncture marks that had once been etched into his skin by Pierce. 

They were tangled in bed, with the sheets ripped away from the mattress and feathers spilled all over the floor from a torn pillow when Steve came back to his senses, feeling almost sober for the first time in days as his rut finally began to ebb. He still didn’t know if the wolfsbane had heightened or hindered his control during his rut, but the endorphin high that buzzed through his veins was enough to make Steve want to try it more often. Bucky was a comforting weight on top of him, still clenched around Steve’s deflating knot, and looking utterly debauched. His hair was a hopeless mess, his eyes were unfocused and his expression had slacked into something that looked dreamy and euphoric.

Steve cupped his hand around the back of Bucky’s head and let his other trail down Bucky’s spine to rest comfortingly in the small of his back. Bucky wasn’t sleeping, Steve knew he never really slept in the true sense of the word, but he looked more at peace than he usually did, so Steve let him be and turned his attention to the world outside the bedroom window.

It was snowing. Thick clumps of snow fell lazily from the sky, drifting onto the forest floor which was already carpeted with a thick blanket of white. The boughs of the evergreen branches were laden with pillows of frosted snow, drooping under the weight. Everything felt still and calm, and Steve’s heart rate settled as he watched snowflakes chase each other in lethargic swirls. The fire that had once crackled in the living room had long since burned out, but thankfully, the central heating Steve had plumbed around the cabin had kicked in and kept everything toasty and warm.

The Christmas lights still twinkled around them too, strung up around the eaves of every room in the house, casting everything in soft hues of pink, green, blue, and yellow. Bucky had been very insistent that no room went undecorated, which meant there was even a wreath of holly—picked and painstakingly twisted into a wreath by Bucky’s nimble hands—hanging from the open bedroom door. 

Struck by the realization that Steve had lost track of the days, he fished around for his phone that was fortunately still sitting on the bedside table and clinging to life with 1% battery. It promptly gave up the ghost as soon as Steve turned the screen on, but not before Steve had a chance to catch the date. December 25th. 2:37 pm. 

“Hey, Bucky.” Steve pressed his thumb into one of the dimples in Bucky’s back and leaned forward to nose kisses along Bucky’s temple.

Bucky made a sleepy sound and craned his neck towards Steve. “Hmm?”

“Happy Christmas.” 

“M’rry Chr’mnas, S’evie,” Bucky slurred as he pressed a sloppy kiss to the space between Steve’s pecs. The very same place where their old dog tags mingled against his skin. 

They were both still a mess of drying sweat and spunk, and Steve knew well enough by now that Bucky would be begging for a long soak in the bath just as soon as his legs regained feeling, but there was something a bit more pressing that Steve had to do before the pampering could continue.

“I have something for you,” Steve said, laughing a bit when Bucky’s tired eyes instantly lit up with a curious sense of excitement; that sleepy haze he'd been languishing in abandoned without a second thought. In the aftermath of his rut, Steve had almost forgotten about the gift he’d hidden in the drawer of his nightstand, shoved into the very back of it in an inconspicuous black box that looked about as old as the gift that sat inside of it.

Bucky, who was notorious for his impatience when it came to gifts, wouldn't have thought twice about it if he'd _"stumbled"_ across the box. Which was entirely the point of housing something so precious in a literal piece of rubbish.

“Oh yeah? Might’ve got a little something for you too.” Bucky gave a lazy, cat-like stretch at that, his cheeky grin morphing into a wince that Steve’s own expression mirrored the second Steve’s half-deflated knot popped free from his well-used hole. 

Steve bit back a groan and reached over to dig through the drawer, drawing out the beat-up box at the same time Bucky pulled a velvet-lined box of his own out from under his pillow.

"Exchange on three?" Bucky suggested, suddenly looking a bit shy as his fingers absently pet at the soft fabric of the box in his hand. Steve nodded, offering Bucky a reassuring smile as he sat up against the headboard, taking Bucky along with him to settle into his lap.

"One," Steve began.

"Two," Bucky dutifully followed.

"Three–" they said in unison, all but shoving the gifts at each other with a barely restrained sense of anticipation.

Steve cradled the box Bucky thrust at him in his hand, waiting until Bucky opened his present first. He didn’t want to miss Bucky’s reaction. He looked at the beaten and battered box dubiously, giving it a shake which rattled the contents inside, intrigued by its unassuming appearance. But once he opened it, his confusion melted into a look of awe and wonder. 

“Are they…?” Bucky stared down into the box. His features were enchanted. “But how? Pierce destroyed them.” Bucky plucked his old dog tags from the box and ran the bobbled chain through his fingers. He let the box fall to the bed and brushed his thumb across the plate with his name, and then reverently over Steve's. When he looked up at Steve, there were tears welling in the corners of his eyes. 

“He kept them. I don’t know why, but I managed to track them down,” Steve returned, feeling himself well up too. It was Natasha who’d put Steve on to them, and Steve had no idea why Pierce would have kept them for so long after he’d stripped them from Bucky. Nothing good Steve imagined. It was probably how he’d concocted the whole marriage-treaty-sham in the first place. Luckily, that hadn’t exactly gone to plan for Pierce, though sometimes, Steve wished he could kill him all over again. For everything he’d done, sometimes Steve thought they’d gone too easy on him in the end.

“Sorry I couldn’t return them to you sooner.”

Bucky shook his head frantically. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice cracked and ended up making a noise that was half laugh, half sob. “Don’t be sorry,” he choked. “They’re perfect, Steve. I never thought I’d see them again. Thank you.”

He launched himself at Steve and wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck, planting messy kisses against Steve’s jaw. Steve set his box from Bucky gently on the bed beside him so that he could wrap Bucky up in his arms. Steve’s set, which Bucky had worn daily since they’d been reunited, clanged between them. 

“Guess I should give these back to you, huh?” Bucky sat back on his heels and ran a hand across the chain looped around his neck. He removed them gently and Steve leaned forwards so Bucky could drape them over his head. They were warm from the lingering heat of Steve’s rut that still clung to Bucky’s skin, and they settled with a reassuring weight between his pecs. Steve hadn’t worn his own since the war, he couldn’t bring himself to wear them after he thought Bucky had died; after he’d failed him. Steve was still grappling with the weight of that failure, though it grew a little easier to bear with each new day Bucky spent by his side. 

He slipped Bucky’s recovered tags from his hand and held them open so he could return the honors. 

“With these tags,” Steve smiled, echoing what they’d said to each other in the bombed-out church in France nearly eighty years ago, with Dugan acting as a priest, wishing they could be married for real. “I thee wed.” Steve smoothed the dog tags down over Bucky’s chest and placed a kiss against the plates that bore their names. 

When he brought his gaze back up to Bucky’s eyes, love was pouring from them. Steve’s hand wrapped around Bucky’s nape and pulled him in for a kiss that was both tender and desperate. 

“Sorry we still didn’t get to do that properly.” Steve broke away to let his forehead rest against Bucky’s. He stared down at the long lines of their bodies, and his own chest rising and falling with rapid pants of breath and Bucky’s perfectly controlled and still, at the matching symbols of their love that hung, entwined together. 

Bucky’s mouth slipped into something of a smirk, though his eyes remained glassy with tears. 

“Now open yours,” he prompted. 

Steve held his gaze for a moment, mirroring Bucky’s earlier confusion before he reached for the much more elegant box. It was hinged, and Steve cracked it open, letting out a gasp of surprise. Two gleaming golden rings sat nestled in a bed of velvet. One sized large enough to fit Steve’s ungainly hands, the other a far more reasonable size to suit Bucky’s elegant fingers. 

“Buck,” Steve glanced up at Bucky to find him beaming proudly. 

"Always wanted to give you a ring that matched your heart of gold, Stevie," Bucky murmured, ducking his head bashfully. "Sorry it's not your Ma's like we always talked about back then, but I thought, what with us finally getting hitched and all, that we should have a set of rings like regular folks do."

Steve glanced between Bucky and the rings, completely at a loss for words. Bucky had always been the more thoughtful of the two of them, often placing sentiment on things that others–Steve sometimes included–wouldn't even think twice about. 

When they were younger, Bucky would daydream about a time when his love for Steve could be openly worn around his finger without the constant fear of retaliation from hateful folks that would rather see them dead than happy. He would talk about having a grand wedding with lots of guests, good food, and better wine. 

Bucky would wear his mother's wedding band and Steve would wear Sarah's, paying tribute to two loving mothers who never got to see their boys grow up and fall in love. 

Of course, things didn't pan out the way Bucky had always dreamed they would, and it breaks Steve’s heart more than he could ever put into words when he thinks back on their wedding day. 

Pierce stole that dream from him–from _them._ Tainting and twisting what should have been the happiest moment of their lives with anger and sorrow. 

Steve would do just about anything he could to give that back to Bucky, and with these rings, he may finally have the chance to make things right. For both of them.

Bucky picked up the larger ring and slowly slid it onto Steve’s finger, working it past the second knuckle to settle just above the third. He placed a kiss to the top of Steve’s hand, outwardly admiring how gorgeous the gold band looked against Steve’s tanned skin.

"With this ring," Bucky whispered reverently, sliding his gaze up to meet Steve’s watery eyes. "I thee wed, and pledge to you my love, now and forever.” He squeezed Steve’s hand and raised it to his lips to press a kiss to Steve’s curled knuckles. 

“Now it really will be forever,” Bucky added with a watery laugh. His eyes were full of tears again, but tears of the happiest kind. “If you don’t get sick of me, of course.”

“Oh, Buck.” Steve used his knuckles to wipe the tears away from beneath Bucky’s eyes. “I will never get sick of you. I’m with you, remember? ‘Til the end of the line.”

“To the end of the line,” Bucky echoed back with a smile. Steve gave Bucky a fleeting kiss before he picked up the smaller ring from the box and reached out to cradle Bucky’s hand tenderly in his own. 

“Bucky,” Steve paused to let out a breath that shuddered with the weight of his emotions. Steve still wanted to do this properly. So much had been stolen from them, so much would never be the same again. But this was something that was available to them now. Probably the best thing about the future, and Steve wanted to at least do this right. He held the ring, poised over Bucky’s fourth finger. “Will you marry me?”

Bucky laughed again and pulled his brows into a quizzical smile. “I just did, pal. Three times, now.”

“Properly, I mean? With a church, with tuxes, sappy speeches, lots of drinking, and questionable dancing? Like we always dreamed?—If you can enter a church that is?” Steve tacked on with a sudden bout of worry. Not many of the vampire myths he’d heard about were true—Bucky had a reflection, and garlic bread was still one of his favorite foods—but direct sunlight was very much off-limits and Steve had no idea where Bucky stood on passing over consecrated ground. 

“Churches are fine.” Bucky smiled. “And yes. I’d love to marry you properly.” He reached out with his other hand to clasp around Steve’s forearm. “Will you comb your hair this time?” He added with a sly smile.

“I combed my hair!” Steve protested.

Bucky chuckled and shook his head. He let go of Steve’s arm to drag it through the rough tangles of Steve’s sweat-sodden bedhead. 

“No, you didn’t. Not for any of our weddings so far. Didn’t wear a jacket to any of them either.” He was grinning now and Steve flushed. If he’d known who he was marrying, of course he would have chosen to dress in more than worn jeans and a sweater; he must have made such a terrible impression when he and Bucky had been reunited. God, it was a wonder that Bucky put up with him at all. 

“I promise I’ll make an effort this time. And I promise to love you, now and forever. All that I am and all that I will be is yours.” He slid the ring onto Bucky’s finger and then pulled Bucky forward by that hand to smash their mouths together. 

There was enough of Steve’s rut left in his veins—or maybe it was the oncoming full moon, now just two days away— to spur Steve into action once more before he needed to sate a different kind of appetite and restock on the calories he’d lost over the past few days. It was lucky his werewolf physiology could go so long without food and still manage to sustain Bucky’s needs. Besides, he knew there was a large joint of roasted venison waiting for him in the pantry which had been prepared for Christmas dinner. But that could wait a little longer, Steve had much more pressing matters to attend to—like kissing every inch of Bucky’s bare skin.

He hauled Bucky back into his lap and delighted when their dog tags clashed together with a jangle. He rolled them over and pinned Bucky down, trailing kisses down his throat and across his collar bones. Steve marveled at how his wedding band caught the light when he splayed that hand across Bucky’s hip, and was enthralled by the feeling of Bucky’s wedding band dragging up and down the length of his cock. 

They ended up wringing a few more orgasms out of one another before they fell apart and laid back in their bedsheets that really ought to just be burned at that point. 

It had grown dark outside. The waxing moon hung heavy in the sky out of sight, but trailing silver light across the snow-laden tree branches and bouncing off the thick mounds of snow banked around their cabin. 

The refracted light bounced into the room and shimmered across Bucky’s pale skin that had faded back to the near-translucent state Steve had grown accustomed to. He trailed sleepy kisses across the parts he could reach, too exhausted to move further. Bucky gave a happy hum in reply and nuzzled closer. 

Steve had lost track of the time again, but he knew Christmas was effectively over. They’d missed most of it in a blur of marathon sex and hadn’t watched any of the Christmas films or done any of the Christmas traditions Bucky had been planning too.

“Sorry we missed Christmas, Buck. I’ll make it up to you after the full moon.”

“Wha’you talking about?” Bucky mumbled sleepily, talking directly into Steve’s skin. “Best Christmas ever.”

“Yeah.” Steve agreed and squeezed Bucky tight. He let his eyes fall closed as sleep tugged on the corners of his mind. “Best Christmas ever.” But then, any Christmas Steve got to spend with Bucky, especially one that ended with them wrapped up in each other’s arms with the promise of many more Christmases to come, was just about the most perfect Christmas Steve could ever wish for. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments mean the world to us, so please let us know what you think 😊 ❤


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